The Games We Play
by dresa
Summary: The Dunder Mifflin staff take an emergency minigolf trip. Inspired by the recent Puma advertisements in Details magazine, as well as the JimPam pic in Entertainment Weekly.


This story was inspired by the Puma ad pics in Details Magazine, as well as the Jim/Pam pic in Entertainment Weekly.

If you haven't seen them, let me know and I'll get them to you.

We now know that Pam's last name is spelled Beesly, despite her Myspace page.

The Games We Play

Despite what anyone might think, Jim Halpert was a normal, hot-blooded male.

He reacted to certain things he saw, had certain thoughts at times that were less than...pure.

But, with a boss like Michael Scott, one quickly came to know what constituted inappropriate behavior.

Added to that, the object of his occasional prurient musings was his best friend, the only person who made work bearable.

Jim was in love with Pam. He had become resigned to that inescapable fact some time ago. She was engaged, in love with a guy who didn't deserve her,

and seemingly happy to give up all of her dreams for the dull practicality of life in Scranton, PA.

He wasn't going to be the guy who forced her to make a choice. It seemed that she already had.

But, since Roy was visiting his parent's in Philadelphia for the week, he was having a much harder time not staring at Pam while she sent out her faxes,

or bent down to tie her super-white keds. Or not noticing her new, slightly form fitting blouse, and the lip gloss she had put on today.

Since Roy wasn't around, Jim had decided to pretend that she wanted to look nice for him.

They had been talking the previous week about shopping, and Pam had said they had a little money left over after all the wedding expenses.

Jim had encouraged her to splurge on herself, for once, reminding her (subtly) of the Wave Runner debacle of the previous year.

Apparently, she had taken his advice. And to (very reluctantly) borrow a phrase from Michael Scott, Jim was looking, and he was liking.

He was trying to wrench his gaze away from the gold strands in her hair revealed by the fluorescent light overhead, when-

"Who plays golf?" Michael burst out of his office, frantic.

"This is an emergency. I need golf emergency help."

After a beat, Jim replied, "Emergency golf, or the regular kind?" He heard Pam's faint giggle.

Michael, as usual, didn't get it. "What's the difference?"

Jim just shook his head. Dwight stood up and said, "I play mini-golf all the time with my cousin Mose."

Michael scowled at him. "That helps me not at all, you dork."

Dwight sank back down, pushing up his glasses mutinously.

"Why do you need emergency golf help, Michael?"

"Corporate is holding a golf tournament fundraiser, and Jan's gonna be there. I've got to show her my skills, but I don't know how to play."

"So how do you know if you have skills?" Kevin asked slowly.

"I'm Scottish. It's inside my DNA genes." Michael smirked back.

"DNA genes," Jim mouthed silently to Pam, who was now covering her mouth to stop her laughter.

Ryan decided this might be over quickly if he spoke up.

"Mini-golf is actually not a bad idea. It will help you with your short putting game. For the long part, just basically hit the ball as hard as you can."

"Like in Happy Gilmore?" asked Michael, with a hopeful look.

"Uh, yeah, just like that." Ryan, who once might have looked bewildered at such a comment, simply appeared resigned.

"Excellent!" Michael was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Ryan, find me the closest mini-golf course."

Dwight knocked his chair over in his haste to stand up. "I can do it, Michael!"

Michael shook his head. "Ryan's in business school. He knows about the business of golf."

He immediately turned, looking for a camera to grin into.

Dwight huffed, then stalked to the kitchen, knocking Ryan's shoulder with his own as he went.

Michael continued, at an even louder volume.

"Attention, D-Miff Crew! We will be taking an extended lunch today to play mini golf.

This will help us all with our team-building skills. It's also ancient Scottish rite of passage, so we will get cultural stuff too."

"Actually, Michael- mini golf is just a bastardization of the true golf tradition." Creed offered, "The Irish-"

"I know better than you, Creed. Because you're only Irish and I'm Scottish and Irish. That's twice the golf ancestoration."

Creed just shook his head and muttered a curse in Mandarin Chinese.

(Talking Head- Pam)

"Uhm, Roy doesn't like putt-putt. He says it's lame. So I haven't been in a really long time. My dad used to take me when I was a kid, though. Some really good memories."

Pam smiled wistfully.

(End Talking Head)

Jim strolled up to Pam's desk, and popped a jelly bean into his mouth. He placed a post it note directly onto Pam's computer monitor,

right in front of the Spider Solitaire game she was currently playing.

It read, "Would you do me the honor of being my partner?"

Pam tilted her head slightly, beaming up at Jim. "I accept."

"Awesome," Jim replied, drumming his hands on her desk, and turning to leave.

As he walked back to his desk, he added, "But you'd better be good, or I'll dump you for Phyllis."

Pam rolled her eyes playfully. "I've heard that before, actually. From Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration. Apparently, he was telling the truth."

It was a beautiful spring day, with a temperature of around 70 degrees, a slight breeze wafting through the nearby trees.

Michael, amazingly, paid for all their admissions.

Of course, he then talked about how great a boss he was, and personally, Jim would have rather paid the two buck entry fee than hear him praising himself.

They proceeded through the equipment area, each grabbing a club and a ball.

"Okay," yelled Michael jubilantly. "Everyone grab a partner and prepare to be crushed by the Great Scott!"

Dwight pushed through to the front of the group. "Micheal, would you please be my partner?"

"No." Michael threw his arm around an immediately stiff and wide-eyed Ryan. "Ryan already has dibs."

Kelly's face crumpled.

Dwight started to slam his club down in anger, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple already on the course that were giggling as they cuddled together to putt.

With a strange leer, he looked around, and meeting Angela's gaze, nodded slowly and waggled his eyebrows.

They split into teams, Micheal and Ryan, Kevin and Oscar, Angela and Dwight, Kelly and Phyllis, Meredith and Creed, Stanley and Toby, and Jim and Pam.

As they waited their turn in line, Jim continued to demand excellence.

"I was serious about the Phyllis thing, you know. She's a fierce competitor. I want to win.

Now, I picked you because you're slightly amusing, but don't let that give you a false sense of security.

You could be cut and sent back to the minor leagues at anytime.

Pam nodded solemnly. "I'll find it in me somewhere. My ears are bleeding at the thought of spending that much time with Kelly."

Jim laughed. Suddenly, Pam grabbed his tie and pulled him toward her. He stumbled into Pam, and she responded by wrapping her arms around him tightly to try and stop his forward momentum.

Since Pam weighed about seventy pounds less than Jim, she was quite unsuccessful.

The next thing she knew, she was staring up at Jim, from the very hard, cold ground, and he was staring down at her, his very hard, warm body on top of hers.

A thousand things ran through her mind in an instant, most having to do with how good it felt, the way he smelled, and oh, god, the quickly developing evidence that he wasn't entirely displeased with their current situation. She dimly registered that her body was beginning to respond to Jim, and that her eyes were caught in his. She thought she knew what he was trying to say with them, his expressive face desperately communicating something she hadn't been able, or hadn't been willing to see.

She might have said something, but at that moment, a metallic clang ricocheted much too closely, and a steel golf club bounced to a standstill not a foot from their faces.

"My bad," Michael called out. Lost my grip!" Next to him, Ryan had his face hidden in his hands.

And, in a rush, clarity came back to Pam. She whispered, "I saw the golf club flying towards you. Sor- sorry I grabbed you like that."

Jim scrambled up immediately, offering a hand even as he surreptitiously adjusted whatever needed adjusting. "It's cool," he replied quickly.

"It's nice having someone who can spot deadly projectiles and react accordingly. His severe blush belied the seeming casual words.

Pam just nodded, and they continued towards the front of the putt-putt line, purposely keeping their eyes forward and off any co-workers that might be looking at them knowingly.

Pam did was she excelled at, which was to push things aside. She concentrated on mini-golf, determined to keep her mind off of what had just occurred.

And the hardness she'd felt that had nothing to do with the ground.

Fin.

Pam talked about the Wave Runners in the deleted scenes of the Season 1 DVD. She said that she and Roy were supposed to be saving for the wedding, and he bought two Wave Runners instead, supposedly for her and him. But, she continued, she never even got to ride it because his brother always rode it. One more instance of his inconsiderate nature.

I will continue if there is enough interest.


End file.
